Signs
by luvscharlie
Summary: Harry has a brand new love of chocolate. Harry/Romilda


_Signs _by Luvscharlie

_Warnings: __snark, sex, a brash Romilda and a bit of degredation for poor Harry_

_A/N: __Originally written for the 2010 smutty_claus exchange on Live Journal where el_em_en_oh_pee asked for lots of kissing, first time together, awkward sex, strong feisty female characters, post-Hogwarts, pre-epilogue, scenes in kitchens, partially clothed sex, jaded characters, realistic bodies, one of the characters in the fic being outraged at the possibility of getting together with the other, girls who are much more experienced than boys, "when hair gets in the way". Thanks to teenage_hustler for the amazing beta work!  
_

* * *

"Why the hell did you drag me here?" Harry was still reeling from the side along Apparation that Ron had done, _without_ his consent. "We're supposed to be on a bloody mission. If Kingsley finds out we're larking about, he'll have our arses on day-care duty, and I'm not doing that again. Do you know how hard it is to get plum stains out of a white shirt? There's no Cleansing Charm in the world that's strong enough."

"Admittedly, that was no fun. But, you've got to see this. Oh my god, you've just got to. You're going to _die_." Ron was giggling like a five year old girl. Harry found nothing about potential plum stains funny. He thought he really needed to stay away from the Burrow on wash day. Mrs Weasley was starting to rub off on him… and it was terrifying.

"Been there. Done that. Don't fancy doing it again, thanks." Harry pulled out his wand to take him back to where he was supposed to be, in the middle of the Forest of Dean, in pursuit of a rogue goblin who'd decided to rob a vault at Gringotts and take off with the loot. He and Ron had drawn the job since it was their fault that Gringotts reputation had taken such a hit the first time, what with them robbing them and all, and they were supposed to be doing damage control after this second burgling. Save the world, and this is the thanks you get. Bunch of ingrates. Harry had just swished and was about to flick, when he saw it and his wand froze in mid-air. "Bloody fucking hell!"

"See, I told you you'd die." Ron's words could barely be deciphered because he was clutching his sides and laughing that very Ron laugh of his.

There, right in front of him, Harry saw the painted sign on the window of the otherwise quaint little shop, nestled in the corner of the Hogsmeade High Street: _Madam Romilda's Exquisite Chocolates_. That part of the sign, in and of itself, wasn't enough to make Harry do a double take. It was the wording beneath, which was of course flashing in bright neon (subtle, that), which made his mouth fall open in apt horror. _Once caused the Boy Who Lived (Harry Potter) to fall hopelessly in love!_

"That is a total lie!" Harry shrieked when the name finally triggered his memory. Romilda. Romilda Vane.

Ron was laughing so hard that Harry expected him to fall down and begin rolling about at any moment. Tears were actually squeezing out of the corners of his eyes and beginning to roll their way down his freckled cheeks.

"Stop laughing!"

"Sorry, mate," Ron said through coughs and chuckles. "It's just that sometimes it must really suck to be The Boy Who Lived."

"You mean there are times when it doesn't?" Harry exclaimed. He pointed an accusing finger. "It was _YOU_ who fell in love with her. Not me." He started toward the door and shot back. "And she's going to change that sign right this minute."

There was a _kerthump_ and Harry found himself face down eating dirt with a heavy Ron-weight on his back before he knew what had hit him.

"You can't do that!" Ron had gone from belly-laughing to desperation in a fraction of a second. "Lavender doesn't know anything about that. She only knows about the poison, which still gets me some good sympathy when I need to pull that card, and you _can't_ rat me out."

"Of course she knows," Harry tried to say, but the ground was blocking the sound from escaping, and instead of making his proclamation, he swallowed a bug which had been marching along the frosty grass. He got an arm free and jabbed up violently so that Ron caught an elbow to the ribs and rolled off him moaning and whinging. He was doing that side-clutching thing again—though this time, in pain rather than glee, and Harry found that he kind of liked it when it was done in this manner.

"What the fuck was that for?" Ron spat out, just, unfortunately, at the same time as a toddler waddled by, attached to the hand of his mother.

"Aww-aw-aw," the child said, light blue eyes wide and appalled as he tugged on his mother's hand. "Mummy, that man said a naughty word. A vewy naughty word."

The woman looked down at Ron and clucked her tongue in disapproval. "I know your mother," she said. "She's going to be disappointed to hear that one of her sons was behaving in public in such a manner. What's your name, young man? Make no mistake, I shall be speaking with your mother about this."

Harry almost forgot the horror of the current situation when Ron said, "My name's Percy," without the slightest hesitation. Harry thought he'd made a poor choice. Mrs Weasley was no dummy and she'd see through that in a minute. Her prim, perfect Percy wouldn't behave in such a manner. Harry would have said George. She'd have believed that. Now Ron was going to catch it when Mrs Weasley heard the f-word was being tossed about in the presence of ladies and small children.

Harry straightened his glasses and looked back at the window, the awful dread washing over him once more. He had to put a stop to this madness at once.

Harry pushed up the sleeves of his robe (which promptly fell back down, damn skinny arms) and marched into Madam Pain-in-the-Arse's chocolate shop, ready to eliminate the problem (or sweet talk her into taking down that sign—whichever worked best—he was diplomatic that way).

Harry walked through the door, tried to make his way through the throngs of young girls crowding around the counter, caught an elbow to the stomach and a knee just to the left of his groin (thankfully, the girl was a bad aim), among many shouts of "no cutting" and "wait your turn, old guy!" (Old guy? The hell? He was 21!) It took some pushing back (oh, please don't let there be any reporters nearby to see this—he could just imagine the headlines: _Boy Hero Pushes Little Girls_), a bit of elbow gouging and taking one girl unawares as he diverted her attention and then jumped in front of her to make it to the counter, but Harry, he persevered. "I demand to speak to Romilda Vane," Harry shouted above the many girls' voices.

"She's busy," said a blonde at the counter. "Now get out of the way. I've got customers to ser—BLOODY HELL! It's Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived! Look girls!"

"Shhhhh!" Harry insisted. After all, he was supposed to be in the Forest of Dean.

The blonde, however, could not be contained so easily. She pressed her wand to her throat so that her voice amplified and she could be heard easily over the noisy girls. "Come back for a second dose of the Mistress's chocolates, he has. One bit of love wasn't enough, eh? So good, not even Harry Potter, himself, can resist."

And as reporters tend to have a way of doing whenever Harry was involved, one popped up and flashed the bulb of a camera right in his face. There he was, definitely not in the Forest of Dean, which Kingsley would _probably_ notice, and this rumour was, undoubtedly, about to spin out of control.

Ron shoved his way through the girls, grabbed Harry's arm and Apparated them away before Harry could make any sort of attempt to mend his reputation. The damage had been done, and oh, the humiliation he was going to suffer for this one! And to add insult to injury, he'd not even had a chance to take Romilda Vane to task for this outrage before being mamoosed away in a whoosh of colours.

* * *

It was with mop in hand that Harry spent the next day. The good Minister himself had come to the Forest of Dean and dragged Harry and Ron back—by the ear, and Ron pointed out that his ears really didn't need any further stretching, if you please. Kingsley didn't please. He yanked Ron's ear a good one for the comment, and Ron chose to remain silent as Kingsley Portkeyed both young men back to his own office and assigned them janitorial duty.

As expected, Kingsley was less than excited about Ron and Harry's little venture off course, and as they mopped and swept up, he'd forced them to wear large sandwich boards that read, "I am a moron who is incapable of following orders" as punishment.

Harry was on his second hour of being pointed at and laughed about, and he thought his mop had given him a splinter. He tossed it down and it clattered onto the floor. The echo bounced about the walls so that Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. "I can't do this!" Harry shouted.

"Bloody humiliating," Ron agreed.

With a violent shake of his head, Harry's glasses went lopsided. "No, not that. It's the embarrassment of that bloody sign. I can't stand it anymore."

Looking at the sandwich board which matched his own, Ron nodded. "I know Kingsley was pissed off, but this is a bit much." Ron took his off and it bounced off the floor in rebellion.

"Not this sign!" Harry shook his head again in frustration. "The one on that bloody shop. I did not eat any of Romilda Vane's chocolates. It's false advertising. That's what it is! And I'll not stand for it!" Harry pulled out his wand and was about to turn on his heel and go back to Hogsmeade and give Romilda Vane a piece of his mind, when suddenly his hand was empty.

Ron held his wand behind his back and dodged out of the way when Harry made an attempt to retrieve it. "Are you daft, man? You skive out on our punishment, Kingsley's gonna have your head for a trophy on his lovely new Minister-type wall. Heard he just got it painted, and you'd look dead pretty on that wall of his."

Hmm, Ron had a point. Kingsley was only going to be pushed so far, and he hadn't appreciated seeing Harry's face on the cover of the _Prophet_ when he was supposed to be on a mission. There had been those words like "humiliating" and "disgrace" and "disappointment" tossed around a lot when Kingsley was blessing them out. And pissing off the Minister twice in the span of as many days was probably not the brightest of ideas. Not that it would surprise Kingsley all that much, since the words "dense", "thick-headed" and "morons" had been tossed around in equal amounts. Harry really should be on his best behaviour.

But the thought of that sign—it was driving him spare. And when weighing Kingsley's wrath against the satisfaction of getting that sign removed from the window—the sign won out, hands down.

"You'll just have to cover for me, since it's all your fault anyway."

"My fault?" Ron demanded. Harry pulled a face that made Ron seem to reconsider that statement. "Okay, maybe it's a _little_ bit—he held up his fingers a half-inch apart—my fault. But I'm being punished enough." He pointed at his broom, but Harry was determined. He was not to be swayed. He snatched Ron's wand from his back pocket, since Ron was still holding his own out of his reach, and was gone before Ron could tackle him and take back his pilfered wand.

* * *

Harry hit the ground rather hard, but managed to stay standing, two streets down from where he'd intended to land, but when Apparating on the fly with a borrowed wand, well, precision wasn't everything. Harry was frankly lucky he'd managed to make it to the right village, so he was counting his blessings.

Harry started first for the front door of the shop, but he could see through the window the same blonde woman who had refused to allow him to see Romilda Vane the previous day, and who had alerted everyone who was in earshot of her trumpeting voice that the Boy Hero couldn't wait to taste her mistress's chocolates yet again. Just couldn't get enough of such decadent delights as came from Romilda's kitchen.

Hmm, well he'd show her. He wasn't an Auror for nothing. Okay, Auror trainee if one wanted to be _really_ technical and all, which he didn't—and anyway, he'd just go around to the service alley in the back and see if he could gain entrance there. Use the old noggin. No need to go rushing in with wands blazing and shouting about the injustices of her false advertising. All that was likely to get him was tossed out of the Auror Academy when Kingsley found out about it, which he undoubtedly would.

Thus, a bit of stealth was required.

Harry made his way, back hugging the cold brick of the wall, keeping his head down so as not to be noticed until he was in the shadow of the alley in the rear of the shop. It had snowed, and the flakes were continuing to pepper down, and it was just beginning to get dark. He could hear the voices of the Hogwarts students on their way back up the hill leading to the castle, their Hogsmeade weekend coming to a close, their voices excited as they discussed the upcoming Christmas holidays. Harry found himself feeling a bit nostalgic for those days at Hogwarts, but he was drawn quickly from his reverie to the warmth of the candle light drifting out to cast a warm, inviting glow upon the white ground. The window was cracked open, Harry noticed, and the most delicious smells were beginning to waft out, beckoning him forth. The smell of chocolate and chocolate, and oh dear Merlin, chocolate! His saliva glands were working overtime.

And then, he saw her—well, he saw her bum, as she bent over to remove a tray of biscuits from the range. Apparently the shop sold more than just the chocolates advertised. And oh, what a bum it was. Harry was transfixed. This wasn't the ordinary, skinny twig of a girl that he remembered back when she was fourteen and making eyes at him in the Gryffindor common room. If her bum was any indication of the rest of her, Romilda Vane had filled out and nicely too.

Harry's outrage at his own humiliation took a backseat to his hormones, which had switched into overdrive at the sight of Romilda's very plump bum. Now, he simply wanted to see more of her.

"You gonna stand out there all day, Potter? I don't fancy having to remove your half-frozen carcass from my doorstep when I close up shop. It would be bad for business."

So much for voyeuristic pleasures. Harry stepped up to the door, turned the handle and walked into the warm, sweet-smelling kitchen to meet Romilda Vane head on. He wouldn't be swayed by her lush curves and—he'd just look at the ceiling, that's what he'd do. Yes, that was the way to deal with pretty girls. Never make eye contact. "I demand that sign be removed! It's false advertising."

"Well, I'm not sure about the following orders part, but you are a moron. So I think it's appropriate."

"What?"

"The sign you're wearing." Romilda said, pointing at the sandwich boards that Harry had forgotten about. "Might be a bit of a stretch, but I wouldn't go so far as to say false advertising. Doubt you'd make that stick, Potter."

Harry shrugged out of the cumbersome sandwich-boards, frankly surprised he'd forgotten them even in his rage, and looked her dead on. Forget this nonsense about not making eye contact. He had been wronged, and he was going to right it!

Romilda had her hands on her shapely hips. She was what most would call pleasingly plump, and what Harry would term as 'just right'. Her body was just right anyway; she had a mouth like a rabid dragon. He liked a girl who was soft and warm, and those chocolate brown eyes of hers drew him right in with promises of mystery and intrigue. Her hair fell in long, dark curls down her back and there was one lock that fell over her eye. He smiled at the way she blew out a puff of air to make it fall back into place. It refused. Harry couldn't stop himself. Before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the distance between them and his hand had snaked out and tucked the piece of wayward hair behind her ear and…

_KERTHWAP_

The whole left side of Harry's face exploded in a burst of pain and his glasses were tilted at an odd angle. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"To remind you to keep your hands to yourself, Harry Potter. Boy Who Lived or not, you'll not touch me again without permission."

And with those words, she shoved Harry across the room, back out on the door step, and slammed the door promptly in his face. If he hadn't moved when he had, she'd have chopped off the end of his nose.

The candlelight went out, and Harry still hadn't made one step towards ridding the front of her shop of its offensive sign… and she'd kept his punishment sandwich boards, which he'd have to answer for.

* * *

All the next day as Harry and Ron mucked out the ladies toilets at the Ministry, Harry played over the night's events in his mind.

"I just don't get it, Ron," he said.

"Me either. I didn't skive off, yet here I am right beside you, punished again! It's not fair!" Ron exclaimed.

With an annoyed shake of his head, Harry dunked his mop and said, "Not that. I mean, she kicked me right out on my arse. Never even let me get a word in edgewise."

Ron's tone became more sympathetic. "Girls are sure good at that. The only time they're not talking is if they're snogging, and Lavender would sometimes manage to talk even then. Annoying, that. I mean who wants to hear all that prattle when you're trying to get your hands inside a bird's robes? Dead distracting, that is. It's bad enough there's all those hook things and buttons and—you know, Harry, we should design clothes, me and you. Clothes for women that blokes would appreciate. No buttons, no hooks, only nice and easy zippers. Things a bloke can work with one hand. Cause, I mean if you're only using one hand, you've got the other one completely free for grabbing boobies and—Are you listening to me?"

Harry frowned. "Well, I'm trying not to, but you're the only other person in here, so it's kind of hard to not hear you."

"Don't go getting shirty with me! You're the only reason I'm here at all. Can't believe Kingsley punished me for _letting_ you go. As if I could have stopped you, what with you stealing my wand and all, which I pointed out, but he refused to listen to reason. I think being Minister might have gone to his head."

"Can you believe she wouldn't listen to me at all though?" Harry asked. "Hello, Boy Hero here. Everyone listens to me! Hell, they usually can't wait to quote me. But not her. I don't like her. She has poor listening skills. And don't even get me started on her social etiquette."

"She who?"

"Honestly, don't you ever stop talking long enough to listen to me? Romilda Vane, of course!" Harry shouted across the loo.

"We're still on her then? I guess I got lost back there. Probably I tuned out somewhere around hooks and buttons."

Harry tossed down his mop and took up his wand. "Well, she can't treat _me_ that way. And I'm going to tell her so."

"Blimey, here we go again. Come on, Harry, I don't want to be on punishment detail forever. It's getting embarrassing. Just this morning Theodore Nott walked by and asked if I was studying up to be a wash boy… and I couldn't even say I wasn't! Well, I mean I said it, but it's not like we're really studying to be Aurors like this, are we?"

"Don't worry," Harry consoled. "I'll be back with all of this straightened out before Kingsley even notices that I'm gone."

* * *

It was nearing Noon when Harry approached the shop. It was once again full of customers. Business was booming, or so it seemed, and _all_ because the name Harry Potter was on that window. This was going to stop and it was going to happen now.

He considered marching through the front door once again, but if Ron got one more day's punishment because of him, Harry wasn't going to have to worry about this sign. His best mate was going to murder him in his sleep… if he was lucky. And that blonde woman was manning the front again, just waiting for her next bit of free publicity to prance through the door. Harry refused to give her that satisfaction. He went once more to the service alley. He was just about to knock when Romilda's voice reached him.

"You again?"

"Yes, me again. And I'm not going away until you hear me out!" _Ooh, commanding._ He gave himself a mental pat on the back for the firm tone of his voice.

"You can stand there all night for all I care. 'S not my bollocks that's gonna freeze off."

Well, now, that wasn't exactly how he'd planned for that to go. "It's freezing out here."

"No need to tell me the weather, thank you very much. I have a wireless for that. Stand there long enough and I'll have a statute of our Boy wonder to go with my nifty new sign."

"Oooh! Could you be any more infuriating?" Harry shouted, balling up his fist and banging on the door.

Romilda's voice, however, never changed from that same monotone of calm that drove Harry mad. "Well, I could try, but from the way you're shouting this is getting the job done. No need to fix what isn't broken, I always say."

Harry banged hard on the door again, then grabbed the door knob and gave it a violent twist. The door hadn't been locked, and the force of Harry's twist and the easy give of the door combined to spill Harry into the room in a rather ungraceful heap.

"Wondered when you were going to make the bright decision to try the door knob."

Harry got straight to the heart of the matter once he scraped himself off the floor. Forget dark eyes and pretty curves and tits that he'd like to—No, no, that wasn't helping. _Forget_ those things. His voice came out in a shrill shriek that was rather unmanly and sounded a bit like a whiny child. "You take that sign down, right this instant." He was proud of the authority in his demand.

Romilda paused and scratched her chin. "To which sign would you be referring?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes. Not that Harry noticed. Nope, he didn't see it at all. Not how long and pretty they were, or how her face flushed in the heat of the kitchen so that her apple cheeks looked all rosy.

"You know exactly what sign I'm talking about. Take. It. Down."

"Oh, that sign! The one in the front of the shop then?"

"YES!"

There was a sharp scream from above the shop followed by wailing.

"Well, now you've done it. You've gone and woken the baby. We'll have to postpone this conversation for another time, Mr Potter. Good day."

And before he knew what was happening, still in shock from that statement, she'd grabbed Harry's elbow, guided him toward the back door, and saw him out it. Again.

* * *

"Kingsley noticed you were gone," Ron deadpanned, using a flannel to clean one pane of the Ministry's many, many windows. For an underground building, they sure did have a lot of windows.

"Yeah, guess I didn't make it back nearly as quick as I thought I would."

Ron glared. "You don't say?"

"A baby," Harry said, still flabbergasted by the news that had fallen on him like a ton of rocks the day before. "Romilda Vane has a baby."

"Wonder who she married?"

"She's not married." At Ron's raised eyebrow, Harry clarified. "I asked Neville. You know, just because I was curious. That's all. Thought there might be a man I could actually speak to that was rational. That's all. Not for any other reason."

"Course not."

Harry didn't miss the face Ron pulled nor the rolling of his eyes. "One day your face is going to freeze like that."

"Mum has got to stop inviting you over for tea and those mother-son talks that she seems to think are her responsibility. You're starting to sound like her now. Any word on the not-married Romilda taking down the sign then?"

"Well, I can't make her take it down now. A single woman with a baby to raise on her own. I mean, she's probably only making money because of my name and—I don't think I could do that."

"Might you get over yourself some time today and actually help me with these windows? I've heard her sweets are really good. Maybe she's not doing as bad as you think."

"Well, of course she's not. My name's selling all those chocolates, probably making her a bloody fortune." The realisation just dawned on Harry. "You know, she never even said thank you. Look it, me making her all this tons of Galleons, and she's not even grateful enough to thank me for taking care of her and her baby."

"Big jump there, don't you think? It's one sign in one window. That's hardly going to qualify you as father of the year."

"Father of the year? What are you even talking about? I think that cleanser is going to your head, Ron."

"Yeah, because _I'm_ the one talking crazy."

Harry tuned out the sarcasm. "I'm going over there right now to demand my thank you. She could at least acknowledge my contribution to the success of her shop."

"Mate, she gave you your own sign. What more do you want? And I swear if you try and Apparate away I will make you regret it. I'm tired of all these punishments, which by the way, you never even stick around for."

"I'm going."

"You're not."

"I am." Harry glared.

Ron glared back. "Harry, don't even—"

And with a 'pop' Harry was gone and Ron was taking out his anger on an innocent bucket of soapy water, which was the approximate size of Harry's head.

* * *

Harry Apparated so that he landed on the back doorstep of the shop. He had just raised his hand to knock when Romilda's voice wafted out. "This is becoming a very tired routine, you know?"

"I've come to—" Harry started, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

"Track snow into my kitchen, and you'll spend the night mopping these floors." Romilda went back to decorating little chocolates as Harry stomped his feet to free his boots of snow.

"I've come to—" Harry started again.

"I know. I know. You want me to take down the sign. My false advertising offends you. You demand it be done this minute. Yada, yada, yada. Did I miss anything? I mean I threw in that yada, yada, yada part for the humour factor, but I rather liked it." She held up a finger. "Oh yes, wait. There's also the how dare I part. Mustn't forget that."

There was simply no one who could make his blood boil in such record time. Not even Malfoy, and that was saying something. Harry counted to ten in his head before allowing himself to speak. "I've not come to ask you to take down the sign."

"I won't do it—wait. What? You haven't?"

"No. I think you should leave it up." Harry closed his eyes in anticipation of the multitude of thanks Romilda was about to heap upon him.

One minute... two… no heaping praise met his ears. Harry cracked open an eye.

Romilda sat down a jar of red sparkly things she'd been about to sprinkle atop some chocolate hearts and placed her balled fists on her hips. "_You_ think I should leave up the sign in the front of my shop? Reverse psychology only works on idiots, of which, I am not. The sign stays up." She went back to her jar of red sparkly things.

"I'm not using reverse psychology. I really want you to leave it up. You know, for the baby and all and—"

Romilda whirled on him. "The baby? What baby?"

"My God, what kind of monster are you? Your baby, of course. The one without a father. The one who needs that sign to help support him… or her… or—"

Romilda had fallen back in a chair and was laughing as tears streamed down her face. It was an odd reaction, no doubt, Harry thought, but who was he to judge another's way of expressing gratitude… or relief… or something. He went and put a hand on her shoulder, and said, "There, there." He wasn't very good at this comforting stuff, but that seemed an appropriate response. Now, he'd just stand back and wait for her to gather herself up enough to express her eternal gratitude at his generosity… you know, once she stopped this hysterical laughter. It was all rather sad.

"My God, could you be any more thick-headed?" Romilda said through her laughter. "A baby." She grabbed her side again and the laughter came on in gales. "You are just too much."

Okay, that clearly was not gratitude. "What is so bloody funny?"

"You, you moron," Romilda replied. "I said you woke the baby and you thought—you thought—" The laughter assailed her again so that she was unable to finish, and Harry felt his anger reach a boiling point.

"Yes, I woke up your baby, and I'm sorry you're alone with a baby to raise and—and—"

"I didn't say the baby was mine, you big dummy! My cousin, Roxetta, works in the shop and her baby sleeps upstairs during naptime."

Boy, did he feel stupid. It wasn't that off the wall an inference to make that the baby sleeping above her shop was hers. Harry felt his hackles rise. "Well, that's just great. I come here to make peace with you, and even to help you out so your rotten little shop doesn't go belly up and that's—"

"Go belly up?" Her laughter had ceased so quickly it made Harry's brain go fuzzy. "What? You think I can't make a go of it without the great Harry Potter's name to lean upon?"

Harry looked at his toes, the wall, anywhere but at the very angry face that was suddenly standing before him. "Your name on that sign is simply good business sense, but I don't need you to keep my business from failing. I'll have you know my chocolates are the best anyone has ever tasted and—"

Harry opened his mouth to retort or apologise or something and a chocolate was shoved between his lips. A chocolate which was so decadent that it melted in his mouth, and a bit of the caramel middle dribbled down his chin. He closed his eyes in utter bliss. "Oh. My. God."

When he cracked open an eyelid, Romilda stood before him with a smirk on her face. "Anything you'd like to say now?"

"Besides Oh. My. God? I thought that was fairly self-explanatory. But, since you insist." Harry held out his hand to her. "Harry Potter, Head Idiot of the Auror Department. Truce?"

"We'll see," was Romilda's only reply. It only added to Harry's intrigue.

* * *

"Oh God, Ron, you have to taste these chocolates! I've never tasted anything so amazing in my entire life."

Ron's tummy growled a reply. "I swear, Harry, if you don't shut up about those sweets, my stomach's going to start eating itself. Thanks to you, _again_, we're missing out on lunch."

"Oh, stop whinging. I gave you my wand, didn't I? No chance I'll skive off today. You have my word as an Auror."

"You're not an Auror. You're just a trainee."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but that didn't sound nearly so good."

Conceding, Ron said, "True. Auror Trainee, makes you sound like a pup who hasn't been paper-trained yet."

"Thanks for the analogy, Ron."

Ignoring Harry's sarcasm, Ron replied with a thoughtful, "Anytime." He looked over at Harry and asked the question that Harry didn't see coming at all. "So when are you going over to see her again?"

"What? Who?"

"Who? Oh, I don't know. Maybe the bird whom you haven't stopped talking about all morning." Ron fluttered his eyelashes (not nearly so attractive as when Romilda did it, Harry noted) and raised his voice an octave. "Oh, Ron, she's so pretty. Don't you think she's pretty? I don't like skinny girls. Always afraid you'll break them if you aren't gentle and careful, and who doesn't like curves anyway and she's such a good cook and, and, and..." He lowered his voice down to his normal tone with a cough. "Come off it, mate. Anybody with ears'd know you fancy her."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I said I don't."

"And I said you do."

"And I'm going to prove you wrong!" Harry declared, snatching a Portkey from the wall, which he was supposed to be polishing while the other trainees had their lunch.

Ron sighed when his friend was whooshed away. At this rate, he might as well just drop out of the Auror Academy. The only training he was going to have would make him suitable for janitorial duty, and that did not an Auror make.

* * *

Harry arrived at the backdoor and heard a deep sigh from within the shop. "Come in. But really, if this keeps up, I'm going to have to start charging you rent."

Harry stood at the door with his arms crossed. "I've come to tell you that I don't like you."

"You know, I'm constantly amazed that no girl has scooped you up and married you yet. What with you being so charming and all."

"Well, Ron says I like you. But I—I don't." He nodded his head to confirm his dislike of the girl before him.

"And you came all this way to tell me that you don't like me?"

Harry gulped. "Well, it just sounds dumb when you say it like that."

"You don't say?" She walked up to him, swishing those lush hips of hers in a way that only women seemed to be able to manage with quite the same effect, and Harry felt his pulse quicken. "So, if I were to–oh, I don't know, kiss you, you'd only feel disgust?"

"I'd be totally re-repulsed." He could smell her shampoo and wanted so much to bury his hands in her long, black curls.

"Mmm, would you now?" She took another step forward and Harry took one step back, bumping against the wall of the shop. Nowhere else to go. He fumbled for his Portkey and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt that familiar tug behind his navel.

He wasn't sure what the hell that was all about, but he'd never imagined telling a girl how you didn't like her would make her get all—he didn't even know, aggressive? Girls. He didn't think he'd ever figure them out.

* * *

"Could Kingsley be a bigger pig?" Ron exclaimed, looking at the state of the Minister's office, which they had been assigned to clean.

"I think he did this just for us." Harry had a look around. Kingsley was far too fastidious for this to be the normal state of his office. Not to mention Harry'd had occasion to visit this office on more than one occasion of late and it was usually neat and tidy while Kingsley screamed at him for yet another transgression. He rather thought he might have been kicked out of the Auror Academy altogether if the Minister hadn't realised that it would make headlines and would cause unwanted publicity on how the Wizarding world's hero was no longer in training to be—well, a hero.

"Looks like he had a party in here last night. I wonder if was an orgy. I've always thought of Kingsley as a man who would have attended a few orgies in his day." Ron said this as though he'd pondered on it a good deal, Harry thought. "You know, before he went and got old and all."

"So you think about Kingsley naked and having sex often then?"

"What? No—I mean, yes—I mean I have but not _often_." Ron began to pick trash up off the floor. "So what? You've never imagined another bloke having sex?" Ron asked his question without meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry put forth his best sarcastic effort. "Only you, Ron. I dream about you every night."

"Well, there's a bit of information the _Prophet_ would just love to report on."

Harry and Ron both jumped at the female voice that Harry recognised only too well.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded of Romilda.

"Nothing as glamorous as what you're doing, clearly. Do you do trash detail often, Chicken Little?"

"We do since you came along," Ron grumbled. At Harry's glare in his direction, Ron said, "I'll just—"

"Don't even think about it!" Harry pointed a finger in Ron's face. "You started all of this. There'll be no skiving off now."

"—stand here and feel incredibly awkward," Ron finished, ramming his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

Harry shoved his glasses up onto his nose and turned his attention to Romilda. "You can't come down here to see me. I'm working, you know."

"Such double standards," Romilda tsked. "Besides, I didn't come to see you. I was making a delivery of chocolates to the Minister. Seems he has a lady friend he'd like to impress later this evening." She looked around the trashed office. "If he's smart, he won't be bringing her here." Then she looked at Ron and thumbed in Harry's general direction. "Does he always think so much of himself?"

Ron shrugged. "Meh, lately it's you he's thinking of all the time so—"

"Ron, get out!" Harry demanded.

"Ron don't go, Ron get out. He's rubbish at decisions these days, too. Boy, am I ever sorry I took him to your shop. You've made my life hell. No offense."

Harry noted a smirk turn up the corner of Romilda's mouth, and she waved to indicate no offense was taken.

"Ron," Harry said, his voice remaining firm.

"I'm going. I'm going. All I'm saying is if this mess isn't cleaned up before Kingsley returns, you'll be captaining the sinking ship alone this time. No First Mate Ron there to cover for you. Friendship only goes so far, and I've got prune-fingers from all the hot water my hands have been in all this week."

"Your dish-pan hands are noted."

When the door closed with a soft click behind Ron, Harry turned toward Romilda. "This is rather sad, you know?"

"Agreed. I had no idea you were a custodian here. I'm fairly certain the papers reported that you were training to be an Auror."

Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair. "And I thought you were a baker rather than a comedian."

"A girl of many talents. That's me. Besides, it's not my fault that you have a crush on me. I can't help it that you're powerless to resist my charms."

"You're charming?" Harry asked, aghast. "Gosh, I guess I didn't notice the charm, since it was so well hidden by all the rudeness and sarcasm."

He'd planned to rile her, to get her angry, to watch her cheeks redden and her chest heave in that attractive way he'd noticed it did when she got upset. She simply chuckled and set the Minister's package of chocolates down on his cluttered desktop. Then she leaned in close, so that Harry could smell the sweet chocolate odour that clung to her curls. "I dare you to stay away from me for a week. I don't believe you can do it. Admit it, Potter, you want me."

"I don't." Harry gulped down the truth and managed to get the lie to slip past his lips.

"Then staying away won't be a problem for you."

"Not at all." Harry put forth his best voice of confidence—but he didn't sound all that sure, not even to his own ears. But he was determined, and he'd almost convinced himself that he could do this when Romilda leaned in even closer, her hand brushing against his own and then slipping around him to pinch his bum.

"See you later—but I doubt it will be _that much_ later, Harry." She winked and left, her hips sashaying and her dark curls bouncing, and Harry found his traitor feet following her from the room. He only stopped when he heard her giggle at the sound of his following footsteps.

* * *

At the pub later that evening, when Kingsley's office was finally spotless, Ron chuckled and tossed back his pint. "You won't make it through the evening before you break, mate."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ron."

"Just stating the ugly truth. You haven't managed to stay away for a full day since you set eyes on Romilda Vane. Lust at first sight, I'd say."

The truth of that statement stung a bit. "I've not been there today."

"Night's still young."

"I hate you, sometimes."

Ron chuckled again and ordered them another round of ale. "You know, you could just concede and then you'd both be winners. I think she fancies you."

"She doesn't."

"She came all the way to the Ministry just to see you." Ron took a swallow.

"She came to deliver chocolates which the Minister had ordered."

"Do you really think a busy chocolate shop like the one Romilda Vane runs doesn't have owl post? How do you think she'd have time to get chocolates made to meet that sort of demand if she's larking about delivering packages all day?"

"It wasn't a delivery to just anyone. He's the Minister for Merlin's sake! I'd say that an order from him would get a special delivery from the shop's owner if anybody would."

"Well," Ron said leaning in conspiratorially, "I asked Kingsley and he told me that he never ordered any chocolates."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You've been with me all day."

"Nope, I got kicked out of the office while you had a word with your sweetheart."

Harry might have considered denying that sweetheart remark, but he was too busy turning over that new bit of information in his mind. Romilda Vane _had_ come to see him, not deliver any chocolates. That delivery was simply an excuse. "I should go tell her that she can't come back to the Ministry anymore. I shouldn't let her get away with that kind of lie. It'd be embarrassing to be pursued like that in front of my classmates at the Academy, you know?"

"Oh, absolutely," Ron agreed. "I think you should go over there right now."

And Harry was Apparating to the chocolate shop owned by one Romilda Vane at the very same moment that Kingsley was presenting his date with specially ordered chocolates from the very same shop. Ron was congratulating himself on a job well done. Maybe Harry would finally get this out of his system, and Ron would stop facing the consequences associated with Harry's raging hormones, which had Romilda Vane's name written all over them.

* * *

Harry marched straight through the back door of Romilda Vane's shop, not even stopping to knock.

"I expected you two hours ago." Romilda never turned around. She continued working with her chocolates, and though Harry was all set to tell her how she couldn't come down and interrupt his work any longer, he found himself staring at the way her denims hugged her bum, and how the apron strings barely met in the back of her wide hips, and that her jumper was just a tad too small, so as to cling to every bulge and swell.

He managed to get out, "You can't—" and then she turned around and his voice dried right up and he could barely swallow over the lump in his throat.

"I can't what, Mr Potter? I can't make it without your name. I can't deliver my own chocolates. I can't stay away from someone as wonderful as you. I can't—"

"Yes," Harry interrupted. "Yes, all of those things. I mean, not all of them, but you can't—I—God, this is driving me-" And his words were cut off when Romilda leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on Harry's mouth. "What was that for?" he asked when she pulled away.

"It's usually fun to watch you embarrass yourself, but that was rather painful to witness. I thought it would be the fastest way to make you hush."

Well, that wasn't the answer he'd wanted at all.

"But I rather liked it. Maybe you should start talking again and give me an excuse to do it once more, eh?"

_Hmmm, interesting_. "Well, since you asked so—" Romilda grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him to her, her nose bumping against his own, and her lips were like velvet when they landed on his. She licked her way across his lower lip and delved inside his parted mouth and the taste of her was so exquisite that Harry thought he might explode in his pants right then.

"My kisses are like my chocolates, Harry. Delicious and not soon forgotten."

He believed her. Oh, how he believed her.

Romilda pushed Harry down onto a nearby chair. "Couldn't stay away then?" she whispered, her voice sultry and seductive. Harry found no reason at this point to deny what was made obvious by his being there, and he shook his head. "So tell me that you want me, Boy Wonder."

Harry had stars in his eyes. This was all happening so fast that he felt dizzy and confused. "I think that's Batman, or his side kick bird friend or something. I'm sure that's from one of Dudley's old comics. I don't think people call me that."

Romilda had been about to raise her jumper over her head, but at Harry's comment, she cocked her head to the side. "So a bat man's friend who kicks birds wants me? Has anyone ever told you that you're a very odd man, Harry Potter?"

"So many times," Harry said, but then motioned to Romilda's jumper. "Could you go back to doing what it was you were doing there? Pay no attention to my insane babblings. I do that sometimes. And you—you were doing just fine there on your own. Great, in fact. You were doing great. Let's go back to that, yeah? You and me—we do better when we don't talk. Cause then once of us starts talking and the other gets all mad—I mean this is bound to end badly if we keep talking."

"Shut up."

"M'kay. Shutting up now."

Romilda chuckled and pulled her jumper over her head. "Like what you see, Harry?"

Boy, did he! Her breasts were full and round, her stomach soft and pale, and Harry was riveted to the spot. "If you knew the things I wanted to do to you right now, you'd box my ears a good one."

She smiled a smile that lit up the room and made Harry wonder why she didn't show that side of herself more often. She was beautiful when her face lit up, standing there in the warm glow of the kitchen's candlelight.

"I don't need to be an expert _legilimens_ to know what you're thinking."

Harry grinned, and he would be willing to wager that he looked goofy when he did it. Not sexy like Romilda, but she had the good grace not to laugh in his face… for now, anyway. Then she said something that made Harry wonder just how much he'd been played. "Do you think I set that challenge thinking you'd actually hold out? Or that I even wanted you to? I was on pins and needles waiting on you to arrive. I even closed the shop early. You probably cost me a good fifty Galleons."

"Bill me for it," Harry replied. "I think I've been played for a bit of a fool, and funnily enough, I don't even seem to mind."

"I've played you for a fool? I don't recall showing up on your back step."

"No, I think Ron did. Can't really blame him though. I guess I've got him in more than his share of hot water this week."

"So that's why he had the wrinkly hands?"

"Oh Merlin, don't tell him you noticed."

"Seemed to be a sore spot." Romilda said with eyebrow raised.

"Apparently."

"You know, for a man with a girl standing half-dressed in front of you, you sure do talk a lot."

"You're not close enough to touch, and I don't trust my knees enough to stand." Harry waggled a finger in her direction. "But if you were to come over here, well, that would be another story entirely. It'd probably shut me right up."

"Would it now?" Romilda played coy.

"And if you wanted to bring a tray of those chocolates with you, I wouldn't complain."

"So that's it. You only want me for my sweets."

"Nah, the sweets are a bonus."

"Well, you could use some fattening up." Romilda took one chocolate and started towards Harry, his eyes darting between the yummy chocolate and the yummy mounds of flesh beneath the black lace of Romilda's bra. She put the chocolate between her lips with the other side sticking out of her mouth and bent over the chair where Harry sat. He knew what she wanted him to do, and the thought of the chocolate followed closely by the taste of Romilda's sweet lips had Harry's heart beating in triple time. He pursed his lips, prepared to take the other half of the chocolate between them as Romilda leaned in and came up sputtering, his mouth full of long dark hair. Which tasted considerably less yummy than either chocolate or Romilda's lips.

"Oh, that was disgusting."

"Such a charmer. That's just what a girl wants to hear when she tries to kiss you."

"I just ate hair!"

"You're like a walking accident… even when you're sitting. I swear it's a wonder our side was ever victorious with you for a hero."

Harry ignored the comment. Jibes weren't going to get him any closer to the prize he sought. He'd try flattery. Girls liked that. Ron said so. "You're fucking gorgeous. You know that, right?" Harry couldn't be certain as the kitchen lighting was dim, but he thought Romilida might actually have blushed at the compliment.

"Take it easy, Potter. You're getting lucky tonight. No need to lay it on so thick."

_Whew_. At least now he had confirmation.

"Come over here." Romilda moved aside some trays of sweets and patted the wooden table.

"You come over here," Harry replied. "Come sit on my lap."

Romilda guffawed. "Have you taken a good look at me, Potter?"

He'd done little else. He really did find her an exquisite sight to behold.

"I'm twice your size. You skinny little rat. And I don't fancy spending the remainder of my evening cleaning squished hero out of the fabric of my favourite chair."

He braved his trembling knees and was glad to find that they supported him with only a slight wobble when he stood and crossed to the sturdy table. Taking Romilda in his too skinny arms, he kissed her making sure to push her hair behind her shoulder first. Their noses bumped slightly together, and Harry's glasses dug into the bridge of his nose a bit, but he didn't mind when her tongue slipped past his lips to explore his mouth and her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers winding into his ever-messy hair.

The kiss barely ended, Romilda pushed him away. "All right, then. Off with your clothes. Time's a-wasting."

Harry was confused. He wasn't a complete novice at this. He'd read _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ a half-dozen times, and there had been girls—only a few, but there had been some, and he was rather certain that most girls wanted things to be slow and easy, a gentle building to the point of climax. They liked foreplay… or they were supposed to. "Stop that!" Harry demanded.

"Stop what? We just going to stand here all night?"

"That's not the way this is supposed to happen. It's supposed to be slow, and gentle and—"

Romilda snorted. "Should I have bought you flowers as well? Or maybe I should propose marriage to you first. Then you can be assured that I'll still respect you in the morning and—"

"Stop making fun!" Harry shouted.

"I'm sorry." Harry noted that Romilda did look somewhat contrite. Not a lot, mind you. But somewhat. "All this mushy stuff makes me uncomfortable."

"You work in a store catering to affairs of the heart, for Merlin's sake! But foreplay makes you uncomfortable?"

"It's all this yammering. It's making me more bored than uncomfortable, actually." However, she couldn't hide how she felt. She was so far outside her comfort zone that she didn't know how to act.

"I just wanted this night to be-" Harry lost his voice when Romilda unbuttoned her denims and pushed them down her thighs. She bent down over the table and looked back over her shoulder at a mouth-agape Harry who was staring at the knickers that matched the black lace of her bra.

"Still want that foreplay then?"

Harry shook his head and found himself moving behind her, staring at her ample bum, the warm candlelight reflecting on her lush thighs. And Harry, who wanted to do this just right, found that he was so befuddled that his shaking hands couldn't even unbuckle his own belt to free his straining cock.

Romilda saw his predicament and sighed loudly. "I swear, I have to do everything." She grabbed her wand from the table and rid Harry of his pesky clothes with a flick. "Mmm, nice to see that your scrawniness doesn't carry over to the important parts."

"Um, thanks… I think."

"You do know where to put it?"

"Shut up."

"Just asking, Foreplay Boy."

Harry inched his way up behind her. _Now what?_ Just shoving it in seemed—well wrong. Thankfully, Romilda saved him. She reached back and began to stroke him so that all Harry's mind was capable of thinking was single syllable gibberish such as "ugh" and "good" and "more". She guided him to her, urging his cock between her legs. He slid back and forth against the silk of her knickers feeling them dampen with every stroke of his cock between her thighs, and savouring the moans as she pushed back against him. God, she was getting into it, and the sounds slipping from her lips were delicious and oh, how he wanted her—and then his cock did the unthinkable and let go, come shooting all over her beautiful thighs and clean floor—which she'd probably make him clean up later.

"Oh, no," Harry gasped. "Oh, shite. That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Argh," Romilda groaned her frustration.

"Wait! Wait, I can fix this. I can." Harry slipped his fingers into the side of Romilda's knickers and began to rub, parting her lips and stroking her damp sex. His finger slid into her and Romilda's hips bucked against him. Harry was so excited at the reaction that his knee slammed into the table as he tried to get into a better position.

"Okay, back there?" Romilda asked through gritted teeth.

"Fine," he barked out, working his fingers in and out of her as she rode his hand.

"Nnnnggghh," Romilda squealed as Harry's thumb pressed against her clit and the waves of climax washed over her. She dug her hands into the wood of the table and gasped a mouthful of obscenities. "Fuck, you're not bad at that."

"Thanks." Harry smiled.

"In fact, I'd even say you're good at it."

Harry smirked. He started back across the kitchen and tripped over the chair, falling and striking his head against the wooden arm.

Romilda grinned down at him. "You okay?"

"Nothing that won't mend… 'cept maybe my self-respect."

"I planned to destroy that anyway," Romilda said with wink. "Would have been more fun to chip away at it bit by bit though."

"Sorry to ruin your fun."

"No problem. I'll find some other way to punish you for my own amusement."

"Mmm, I can't wait."

And then, they both erupted in a fit of giggles.


End file.
